


it's not cheap but here i am, giving it away

by thefudge



Category: Original Work
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Black Comedy, Drunkenness, Existential Crisis, F/M, Strange Serendipity, mentions of ageism, ost: father john misty - strange encounter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25120393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge
Summary: Drunk and disoriented, Gertie breaks into her ex-boyfriend's house, wanting to exact revenge. But there's someone there already.
Relationships: Home Intruder/Second Home Intruder (who is that lady), Knife Attacker/Lady Who Drank Too Much, masked killer/some lady (how many times can i spin this??)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46





	it's not cheap but here i am, giving it away

**Author's Note:**

> something in the drafts that I thought you might enjoy as well!  
> (title taken from the song in the tags)

The ski mask looked sort of fleecy, like wearing a black baby lamb on your head. That’s the first thing she noticed. It was cozy, his murder cap.

The second thing, of course, was the hefty butcher’s knife, but that was more due to the metallic reflection.

The first thing he noticed was her bare face, oval, oily, oral. Her mouth was quite big, even in the dark. The second thing, of course, was the standard kitchen knife.

They stood there, staring at each other - distorted reflections in a mirror.

Gertie shifted her weight to her left foot, jutting her hip like her mother would sometimes do to affect impatience.

“What the fuck, dude?” she whispered. “This is _my_ retribution.”

The eyes behind the mask frowned.

“ _I’m_ here to kill them. These are my victims, not yours,” she clarified. “Find a different home to invade.”

She was proud of her gumption. Normally, she would have screamed or run away. But she had ingested copious amounts of alcohol and painkillers before coming here. So, it was all water under the brain. No, wait…bridge. Or maybe brain did fit better, actually.

Anyway, she was experiencing this whole thing as a funny, sort of outdated skit on TV. Ergo, she was not afraid.

She did not expect the masked killer to speak.

“Why should I? I’ve been staking this place for weeks.”

His voice sounded very placid, very _normal_. It sort of clashed with his murderous attire, like someone was dubbing his lines. 

Gertie shook her head. “Weeks? _Pah_! I’ve been obsessed with them for months.” She jutted her hip even further, swaying slightly. “You have no idea.”

His bright eyes regarded her with curiosity.

“Months?” he asked.

Gertie wondered how much she should tell him. Oh-fucking-well. Too late.

“That’s right. Since last April. She’s younger than him, which you may have noticed. That’s no accident.”

He nodded, tapping the knife against his leg, and she wasn’t sure if he was agreeing with her last statement.

“Well, he left me for her,” Gertie said, matter-of-factly, “which I know doesn’t sound like anything special, but she’s not even his student. No, she’s the _daughter_ of one of his older students. So it’s…just way more insulting, okay?”

She wasn’t sure if she’d slurred the word “insulting”, but it had sounded like “insulin”. He seemed to understand, though.

“That’s shitty.”

“I know, _right_?” Gertie echoed a little too loudly. She snorted and put a hand over her mouth. “Oops.”

The house was still quiet, though. Nothing moved.

Only her fellow intruder looked alive.

“I’m also younger than him,” she continued, wanting to make some kind of cohesive argument. “But like, our age difference is insignificant. Four years….and a few months, give or take. I always thought four years’ difference was enough to keep things even, you know? Not too boring, but not too exhausting. I’m thirty-one, he’s thirty-five, perfect median!”

The masked man considered the math, but didn’t seem to have a strong opinion on it.

She huffed. “Well, what’s _your_ ideal age ratio?”

He rubbed the back of his woolen head. “I don’t have one.”

“Yeah, right. All men do, secretly. Come on, if you could date anyone in the world, how old would she be?”

It was such a dead-end conversation, yet so bizarrely compelling, that he couldn’t exactly ignore it. “I guess I wouldn’t mind if she was thirty-one.”

Gertie opened her rather large mouth in surprise. She smiled broadly, waving her hand at him. “Aww, that’s so sweet. But you don’t have to flatter me.”

He leaned against the archway, looking down at his boots. “I wasn’t trying to flatter you. I couldn’t think of another age.”

“Anyway…” Gertie trailed off, waving her knife in the air, “she thinks she’s hot shit because she’s twenty-three…but I was twenty-three, once, not too long ago, and it felt like a baby chick. Like _being_ a baby chick. Just cheeping all day. _Cheeeep_.”

She spun the sound between her lips with such expertise that he almost looked around for a bird. Freaky.

He was spooked, but also concerned. What if she was having some kind of stroke?

“Don’t you hate baby chicks? They just die, most of the time,” Gertie said, eyeing the knife. “They get farmed for dying. Which I guess is what I’m about to do.”

“But…” the killer began with a slight hesitation in his voice, “is it worth killing them and getting in trouble for it?”

Gertie frowned. “Well. You’re about to do it.”

“Yeah, but I have no personal connection to them. I’d be harder to track down. Plus, I’m good at what I do, whereas you…look sloppy, no offense. And you know both of them. The police would be at your door in a matter of hours.”

His voice still sounded so common-place, so reasonable, that Gertie almost lowered the knife. But the alcohol coursing through her bloodstream made her reconsider. She hadn’t come all this way for nothing. She pointed the knife at him. “Fair enough. I guess we’ll have to duel for it. Knife to knife.”

“ _Duel_?”

“Yeah. You afraid or something? Didn’t expect the competition?”

His mouth twitched, fighting a smile behind the mask. She was a fucking goon, but sort of endearing in her goon-ness.

Gertie took a practical stance she’d learned in that one class of Krav Maga that David had wanted her to take for her own safety. Because she used to be younger, once upon a time. She used to be young enough for him. _And thirty-one is still really fucking young!_ she hissed viciously inside her head and held the knife like a fencing sword.

“Lady, you’re –”

But he didn’t know _what_ she was.

“Your _mom’s_ a lady,” Gertie snapped. “I’m not old.”

“I didn’t say you were. Christ. You’re – I think you’re pretty drunk.”

Gertie darted the knife forward. “Yeah, that’s what makes me unpredictable. Formidable. _En garde_!”

If she had actually come at him, he would have immobilized her pretty easily. Probably broken her arm for good measure.

But Gertie couldn’t quite make the landing stick. She veered to the left, in the direction of her jutting hip, boomeranged into a chest of drawers and found herself fencing with a basket of miniature rocks. They clattered to the floor, one by one.

The lights came on upstairs.

“Shit!” he expelled.

Gertie swayed on her feet like a windmill. Her oval face looked distinctly white. He cursed under his breath. He didn’t know why he was about to do this, but he’d already placed a hand over her mouth and was dragging her towards the safety of the kitchen door before he could think better of it.

“Baby lamb…” she muttered softly, trying to touch the whorls of his fleecy mask. He cursed again and lifted her in his arms. It was easier to just carry her to the car.

“What was her name?” she slurred, head on his shoulder. “The girl who had it?”

“Mary,” he replied gruffly as he shoved her in the passenger seat.

“Maryyyyy,” she whinnied happily.

He shook his head. And the counselor said _he_ had issues.

Gertie felt the car moving, but the world looked like it was standing still. Or maybe they were driving in circles. Wasn’t driving _always_ a matter of circles? The Earth was round after all. She wanted to jot down this clever observation but there was no paper in sight.

The home invader had peeled back half of his mask. She could see his nose and mouth.

“That’s a well-proportioned nose,” she said, suddenly back in the present.

He only stirred slightly, keeping his eyes on the road.

She fingered the seatbelt which had been tightened over her chest. That had been considerate of him. 

“I don’t feel so good,” she intimated, staring at the empty streets.

“If you get sick in my car I’m going to actually kill you,” he spoke succinctly. He sounded indifferent about the prospect. He might as well kill her, since the actual target had been a total failure.

“Can we grab some pancakes on the way? Soak up the alcohol.”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “You’re asking me to take you out for food?”

Gertie leaned back in her seat. She suddenly felt like a pancake herself, lazy and gloopy. “I mean, you can tie me up if you need to.”

She’d noticed the rope and zip ties in the back seat and since he’d been nice about the seatbelt she thought she should return the favor.

 _That_ got a reaction out of him. He actually looked at her.

“Are you like this when you're sober too?”

Gertie giggled. “ _Worse_.”

Dawn crested over the hills like a wild animal, dragging a sunlit corpse. But the smog of the city and that five AM pinkness made it bearable. With daylight, he revealed himself. He took off his mask completely. There didn’t seem to be a point now. He knew this baby chick would forget the whole night.

He glanced at her across the booth. She kept her head low, pigeon-like, as she ate her pancakes. She ate with absolute focus. It was almost interesting to watch.

Only when she had mopped the last of the maple syrup did she look up. He wasn’t afraid she’d remember his face. She was probably struggling with her own name at the moment.

But the more she looked at him, as if seeing him - not for the first time - more like the fourth, the more uncomfortable he felt.

“I was right about your nose. Well-proportioned. That’s really rare.”

He raised the cup of coffee to his mouth, buried his nose in it.

“Mine is okay too, but not that great,” she said, touching the bridge of it. “You can tell a lot from a person’s nose. David’s nose is a cheater’s nose. Your nose is ...a musician’s nose. Do you play an instrument?”

He wiped his mouth. He was not about to confess to her he'd played the tuba in high school. Frankly, that was just a lucky guess.

“No. Maybe - maybe a little guitar in high school.”

“Oh yeah, everyone does that,” she mumbled, pushing her napkin back and forth, wiping the same spot on the table.

“Actually, your nose is a contractor’s nose. Are you in the building business?”

He gave her a look. “No.”

“Hmm. Is it a realtor’s nose, then? You know your way around houses.”

He couldn’t tell if that was her idea of a joke. But he smiled ruefully. “Stop trying to guess.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t kill them,” she said, as if that was the next logical reply in this conversation.

Her face shone with greasy pink sunshine. The colors made her look slightly dead and peaking, but it wasn’t a bad look on her. She wore the passage of time well.

“Why were _you_ trying to kill them?” he asked instead.

“Why were you?” she countered.

He shrugged. “I don't know. A history of violence, a brilliant career in the military, no career in the military, mommy issues, 9/11, some sick twisted fantasy, or absolutely no reason at all. Have your pick.”

Gertie rubbed a line above her forehead. “Umm, 9/11?”

He smiled. “So…what was your plan exactly?”

Her shoulder sagged. “I mostly wanted to scare them. Get a proper reaction out of them. Get them to take notice of me.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah…not my brightest idea. I guess I wanted to cause a big scene, because I’d never had the chance to make one.”

He tilted his head to the side. “I could still scare them for you, if you want.”

Gertie touched her cheek. She was blushing. “That’s – that’s nice. Not necessary, but nice. Thank you. I’m Gertie.”

She offered her hand across the table.

He hesitated for a moment. When he grabbed it, he was glad it was dry and warm. They shook on it.

“I’m David.”

Gertie choked a little. “What?”

“Uhh, yeah,” he mumbled, releasing her hand. “Funny little coincidence, I suppose.”

“Wait. Did you – did you pick David to kill because he shares your name?”

David heaved a defeated sigh. Oh-fucking-well. Too late.

“Yeah…maybe. I try to be as random as possible, but I guess it doesn’t always work.”

Gertie laughed. She carried small tears in the corners of her eyes like hidden treasure. “Yeah, it doesn’t.”

 _We’re a predictable species_ , David thought, watching her pick the tears from the corners of her eyes and wipe them surreptitiously. He wanted to watch her do that again and again. He felt like he could sit here forever, just witnessing her body going through the motions. Watching her age. It would be comfortable.

They were comfortable.

When the waitress stopped by, they ordered eggs and toast. And more coffee. 

The morning bled slowly into their faces as they ate and talked and kept quiet.

It wasn’t time to leave yet.

It wouldn't be time for a while. 


End file.
